


December 4: room service

by dizzy



Series: farewell and gtfo 2016 daily fic advent [4]
Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 12:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8751409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzy/pseuds/dizzy
Summary: prompt: Cc - pasta disaster





	

“This isn’t what I ordered.” 

It’s three in the morning and Chris is pretty sure he’s going to murder the guy in room 2436, no matter how cute he was and how he answered the door ten minutes earlier in a big fluffy robe that looked like it was swallowing him. No, even being a hottie doesn’t impress Chris on a split-shift day where he hasn’t managed to escape the room service kitchens for thirteen hours. 

“Sir, it looks like I had you down for the pasta linguini with mushroom sauce,” Chris says, checking the order log again. The hotel is pretty swank, all the room service ordering is done through the iPads left in each hotel room. 

If this asshole got the wrong dish, it’s because he ordered the wrong dish. 

“I don’t know what happened, man.” 

“Well-” Chris glances at the upper corner of the screen. “Mr. Criss, we’d be happy to correct that mistake, sir. You can use the in-room system to place another order.” 

“Can’t I just like, tell you?” D. Criss asks. 

“Tell me what?” Chris stalls. 

“What my order is.”

Chris looks around.There’s a notepad across the room. He’s really fucking tired. “Sir, the in-room system sends your order directly to the kitchen.” 

“Yeah, but I think I feel better if I’m giving it to you directly, so it’s not wrong again.” D. Criss says. 

He’s a dick, Chris decides. He’s the kind of dick who likes making exhausted, underpaid hotel employees do more work than they need to. But Chris needs this job. “Yes, sir.” He says in a tight voice. “We’ll have that to you as soon as possible.” 

There’s silence on the other end of the line.

Chris can’t hang up first. He’s not allowed. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?” He finally says. 

God, he’s so tired. His eyeballs are aching. His back hurts. He hates the phone. 

“Um.” D. Criss sounds unsure of himself. “Actually like, forget everything I just said.” 

Chris sits up a little straighter. Fuck. That doesn’t sound good. Sudden compliance is a cruel trick of fate. He forces his voice into top tier ass-kissing mode. “Sir, we take pride in bringing our guests exactly what they asked for, and it’s no problem at all-” 

“Dude, I just asked you to bring me pasta at three in the morning even though the first plate you brought me was pretty fucking awesome. I actually ate it already.” D. Criss laughs sheepishly. 

What Chris wants to say is, What the fuck? 

What he does say is, “Sir?” in a voice that he hopes expresses polite, respectful confusion. 

“It’s just like, I’m a musician, and I’ve got this swank record label that just signed me and I’m opening for a pretty cool act but it’s just me, you know? I’m an acoustic act, so it’s like, just fucking me. And I don’t know anyone else and I can’t fucking sleep in hotels and you were like, you were cute, that’s all. You looked cute and I’m fucking lonely so I thought I could like, get you back up here and we could-” 

He talks abruptly. 

“We could?” Chris finishes, his voice completely dry. 

“... talk.” D. Criss says. 

He almost certainly does not mean talk. 

Chris glances at the clock. He’s still exhausted. But he’s also not been laid in six months, a victim of no time and no opportunity. This, he thinks, counts as opportunity. “I’m not allowed to talk to paying guests while on hours.” 

“But you can talk off hours?” D. Criss asks. 

“Well, as long as you don’t run and tell my manager that we’re… talking. I could probably.” Chris starts to smile just a little. 

*

D. Criss has an actual name (Darren) and it turns out he’s not that much of a dick after all. He’s kind of a nice guy. A nice guy with a nice dick that Chris can feel pressed against his thigh as they make out against the wall. 

“You’re so…” Darren sighs, mouth against Chris’s neck. “Hot.” 

“Eloquent,” Chris says. He curls his fingers through Darren’s hair and urges Darren’s head at an upward tilt with faint pressure. He’s leaning in for a kiss and it’s going to be so nice and then- 

He yawns. 

“Fuck,” Chris says, turning his head and laughing sheepishly. “Sorry.” 

Darren laughs too. He presses a kiss to Chris’s jaw and says, “Long night?” 

“Yeah.” Chris rests his hands against Darren’s hips with the kind of comfort from knowing his purpose in the moment and knowing that his touch is wanted. “Problem customers, you know.” 

“Well.” Darren steps back, grabbing Chris’s hands. “Maybe we better nap before the main event, then.” 

Chris is confused. “You want to nap with me?” 

“Yeah, man. It’s fucking four am, I could use a nap. And then we can, you know.” His grin goes mischievous. “Get to it.” 

Chris almost says no. It’s just too weird. He’s never had a hookup that wanted to literally sleep together. But the bed looks comfortable and the long trip home seems so daunting and he’s horny now, he doesn’t actually want to give up this chance… “Okay,” he says. “Let’s nap.” 

*

He sleeps long and hard, waking only once to find Darren breathing deep and steady with one arm flung over Chris’s middle. It’s weird, waking up at daybreak with a stranger he hasn’t fucked. 

But it’s been a while since he’s felt so warm and comfortable. He goes back to sleep. 

*

“Hey.” There’s a gentle prodding at his arm. “Chris, man. You awake?” 

Chris grunts and rolls over, burying his face in the pillow before he realizes it smells like someone else and this definitely isn’t his bed and- 

Shit. 

What the fuck was he thinking? 

He rolls over. “I’m so sorry. How long was I-” 

“About six hours. But it’s cool, I just woke up, too. Guess we both needed more than a nap. Don’t know about you, but I feel fucking great right now.” In the light of the morning, Darren’s face is stubbled but his eyes are bright and keen. “Starving, too. I’m gonna order breakfast, what do you want?” 

Chris should probably go home now. That would be the sensible thing to do. He has to be back at work in under six hours. 

But Darren’s sitting on the edge of the bed asking him if he wants breakfast with disarming ease so Chris yawns into the back of his hand and says, “Eggs and toast, please.” 

*

He means to go home. He really does. 

But they eat breakfast together and Darren talks about his music and then he pulls out his guitar and it would be rude to leave during a private concert, right? And then he says he’s dominated the conversation and he asks Chris what Chris is into, and he listens like he really wants to know, and suddenly it’s pushing three pm and Chris has spent the entire day in bed with a total stranger mostly-clothed. 

“I can’t show up in last night’s wrinkled uniform,” Chris says, apologetic. He’s standing by the doorway, suddenly unsure. This feels like leaving a page half-written, but he’s not even sure when the story started. 

“Do you work tomorrow night?” Darren asks. 

Chris shakes his head. 

“Then come see my show.” Darren looks hopeful. “And we can hang out after.” 

Chris grins. “I’d like that. Text me?” 

And then they’re trading numbers and Darren is kissing him once, sweet and soft, before Chris has to slink out the door and hope none of the day staff recognize and report him for having come out of a guest’s room. 

*  
Darren texts him after an hour, just a quick, _Had a great time last night. In case that wasn’t clear._

Chris still has no idea how a one night stand turned into no sex and the promise of a maybe-date, but it feels so nice that he doesn’t even care.


End file.
